


middle finger in the air

by peppersnot



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Sappiness, and some sads, so much sap, this is me after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppersnot/pseuds/peppersnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i love you. i've told you that a million times, but you never hear it</p>
            </blockquote>





	middle finger in the air

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i started writing this almost seven months ago haha im so good at planning!!!!  
> this is kind of supposed to be set in a universe where rok never happened because it sucked and i am disappointed by knucklebump because that was such a disappointment it was so boring fight me there was so much potential and it was all ruined
> 
> WHATEVER im not here to be salty im here to hand u this fic i finally finished and bc idk if i can ever hand u sarumi fic again. so have this.
> 
> dedicated to yuelles because pain and suffering and to kirsi for being the best beta ever ily!!

 

They break up on a Tuesday, some time in mid-December.

Saruhiko’s taken the day off, taking advantage of the three days of paid leave he has left before the new year starts. He sleeps in late and comes out into the living room at noon, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Misaki is sitting on the sofa with a bag at his feet. He’s staring at the TV, but it isn’t turned on.

“Hey, Saru,” he says, before Saruhiko has the chance to say anything. He stands up, picking the bag off the ground. His expression is unreadable and he refuses to make eye contact. It’s suspicious and it makes him uncomfortable. Misaki sighs and looks at the front door. “I think we should break up.”

Saruhiko stares. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t register Misaki’s muttered apology, and doesn’t move from the spot as Misaki puts on his shoes and leaves with the bag without any explanation. He sits down, leaning against the wall, hugs his knees to his chest and decides to work a half day.

Awashima doesn’t question him when he shows up late. On New Years’ Eve he realizes he never used the other two days he could have taken off. It doesn’t matter though. There’s nothing left to stay home for anyway.

 

* * *

 

_“Oy, Saru,” Misaki growled, standing on the bed and kicking his butt, “Wake up, you’ll be late for work.”_

_Saruhiko stirred and muttered curses under his breath. He hates mornings and he hates going to work. The smell of something burning drifted into the bedroom and Misaki yelled out profanities, kicking his butt one more time before rushing off to save whatever it is on the stove. Saruhiko cracked open an eye to see what ungodly hour Misaki had decided was a good time to wake up. It’s only_ _six thirty_ _. He has another half hour before he really needs to be up._

_When Misaki returned, this time with a spatula, Saruhiko grabbed his wrist and pulled him down on the bed with him._

_“I have time,” he murmured into Misaki’s hair. I love you, he added in his head. Misaki scoffed and swatted him lightly with the spatula and then rubbed his thumb over the spot which was now probably greased. He said something about laziness, but Saruhiko was already deep enough into sleep to catch it._

 

* * *

 

He still sees Misaki around. Of course, he does. Kusanagi-san keeps finding a lot of info about this one really dangerous strain that they haven’t been able to capture yet and he’s Awashima’s favourite person to send, even though she can go herself. Misaki is always there. Misaki always stands up and leaves when he enters. Misaki always says ‘hey’ before he leaves. Saruhiko doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

“He’s just thinking,” Kusanagi-san says to him one day. “Don’t let it get to you.”

“Right,” He replies, and thinks it’s stupid. Does anybody even know? He’s not sure if they do, because if they did, they would know that telling him Misaki is ‘thinking’ isn’t any explanation, or any kind of comfort at all. Think all you want, Misaki, Saruhiko wants to say. Think about staying away forever.

But he doesn’t actually want that, and he knows it. He always says ‘hi’ back, when he enters Bar Homra, and that’s it for their interaction. They make sure not to touch, not to make eye contact, always to smile, and that’s all it is. Saruhiko takes the info back to Awashima and she always looks at him weirdly, as if she’s scanning him for reactions.

It’s a scheme, he realizes. She and Kusanagi-san are planning this entire thing, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He lets them scheme, lets himself see Misaki everyday, let’s himself go home alone that night and bury himself in the covers.

 

* * *

 

_“These are kids’ movies.” Saruhiko looked at the_ _DVD_ _cover and raised an eyebrow at Misaki who was setting up the sofa for a night long movie marathon of apparently, kid’s movies. He rifled through the rest of the pile, scowling at Misaki upon realizing that they were all kids movies, and were all some kind of love story. I love you, but you’re an idiot. “Why do you have such terrible taste?”_

_“Shut up, it’s my birthday,” Misaki said, throwing a pillow at him. “You promised you’d do this with me.”_

_“I’m doing it, but why do you have such terrible taste?”_

_Misaki rolled his eyes in response and sat down on the sofa, patting the seat next to him as an invitation. Saruhiko sighed and decided he’d make sure that every on screen kiss would get him one as well._

 

* * *

 

Every morning, when he wakes up, the first thing he does is look over to the left side of the bed, only a second before he realizes it’s going to be empty. It’s a habit, and he can’t seem to get rid of it. He doesn’t think much about it. It’s been almost a year and a half since they started dating, a year of seeing Misaki’s face first thing in the morning, and only a month since it hasn’t been there anymore, so it’s normal. He’ll get over it soon, obviously.

He keeps his Skype logged in 24/7. There’s only one person in his contacts, and that person isn’t going to call or message him, of course. He keeps himself logged in anyway. Sometimes he scrolls through their conversations instead of working, when he knows Awashima isn’t watching. Everyday, he finds the cursor against the delete button, but never clicks. He doesn’t know why. There’s no point in keeping it. There’s no point in keeping the folder on his desktop full of pictures of them either. Or the folder within that folder of everything Misaki wants to save to his laptop because he’s going to need it later. Misaki isn’t going to need them later anymore, but he doesn’t delete it.

There’s stupid stuff in there. Webpages for recipes, things Saruhiko saved because he thought Misaki would like them, pictures of something off Pinterest because Misaki believes in frugality, even though Saruhiko always offers to pay for whatever the fuck he needs so he can just buy it instead of spending a week making one, but Misaki always refuses that. Saruhiko can buy his things now. The weird looking handmade shelf in the corner of the bedroom can be taken down, he can buy one from the furniture shop. He can put away the lamp shade Misaki spent two days drawing over with a purple sharpie and get a proper one from the store, so the walls aren’t covered with designs every time he turns it on.

He doesn’t do any of that though. The lampshade stays, the shelf stays, the folder stays. Somehow the contents keep increasing, even though there’s no one to show anything to anymore. He keeps saving, never deletes anything.

 

* * *

 

_Misaki pulled his shirt off, groaning about it being too hot for March, and tossed it at his face. It smelled like a mix of something fruity and sweat. Saruhiko pulled it off and threw it back over his shoulder._

_“That’s my shirt,” Misaki said._

_“You didn’t want it, clearly.”_

_“You should take yours off too.”_

_“Don’t wanna.”_

_Misaki took the hem of his shirt between his fingers, pulling at it. “Take it_ off _.”_

_“That’s the worst way to seduce someone.” He watched in amusement and satisfaction as Misaki sputtered and turned a bright red, shoving him in his embarrassment. I love you, his mind said. He took off his shirt anyway, and made sure to throw it at Misaki’s face._

 

* * *

 

Somehow, his coworkers figure it out. Hidaka hands him a stiff white envelope and smiles at him when he looks up in irritated confusion.

“It’s my sister’s wedding, next week. You should come. You might have fun.”

Saruhiko stares at him blankly, before he realizes what he means. _You might have fun._ He hasn’t told anyone anything about him having broken up, and he knew that they knew about him and Misaki when they had still been together. He sets the invitation aside and shrugs, not saying no outright because that’s a little too rude, even for him, but he already knows he’s not going.

 

* * *

 

_They had a stupid game. First to kiss the other hello when they met up after more than five hours of being apart would get two points. A draw resulted in no points, and trying to prevent kisses by the use of obstacles got negative one point. Every time one of them hit fifty, the other would pay for an extravagant dinner. Saruhiko didn’t care either way, but they eventually dropped the game because by the end of two months, no one had reached fifty; they always had a draw._

_“Well, it was a dumb game anyway,” Saruhiko declared. “I don’t need to kiss you for points.”_

_I_ _love you, so I’ll do it whenever._

_Misaki nodded and kissed him hard._

 

* * *

 

He adapts to it, but he doesn’t try to get over anything. He tells himself he wasn’t hungry when he comes home and realizes there’s no one to have cooked for him. He opens up the games he’s never liked playing when he accidentally picks up his phone to text someone who wouldn’t want to get his texts. He shoves the too small T-shirt at the back of his closet and tells himself it’s one of his own, that had shrunk in the wash.

He knows they’re all lies, but he’s a good liar, so he tells them anyway.

 

* * *

 

**_take your time coming home_ ** _, is what Misaki’s text said, and Saruhiko shook his head at the computer screen. Misaki is really obvious. It can’t be any more obvious to anyone what he was trying to do. His desk calendar had a doodle of a monkey on today’s date – made by Misaki of course – and Saruhiko looked at it in amusement._

_His birthday. He knew Misaki was planning some kind of surprise – he’d been using Saruhiko’s laptop a lot recently, and the internet history included searches like ‘good cake recipes’ and ‘best party props’, as well as stupid ones like ‘how to surprise a gloomy person’. Saruhiko hadn’t opened any of those. He’d ruined the surprise element already, so he might as well keep what could be left of it._

**_Okay,_ ** _he texted back, and started working on the reports that weren’t due till next week. Maybe he could take a few days off if he got this done now. I love you, he didn’t add, because Misaki knew that anyway._

 

* * *

 

He takes overtime. It’s not something he ever expected of himself, so even he’s surprised when Awashima asks if he’s okay with staying and he nods without complaint. She’s also surprised. She pauses for a second before repeating her question and he snaps at her, tells her he said he’s fine with it, so why is she asking again?

It’s not her fault, he reminds himself. She’s not to blame for whatever’s happening in his life. There’s nothing happening, anyway. It’s back to how it once was – except maybe the gaping hole he always feels in his chest feels bigger and more painful these days, but he can live with that. It doesn’t matter.

The healed scar over his collarbone starts itching again, and he brings a hand up to scratch it.

 

* * *

 

_“Tell me you like me,” Misaki said, pulling at the blankets and leaving Saruhiko’s toes exposed to the cold. He pulled them back aggressively, but Misaki was strong – of course he was – and he ended up just having to shift closer so he could have his fair share of the blankets. The blankets_ he _had insisted they bring out, in the first place._

_He didn’t register the comment until he was snuggled comfortably in his new position, half pressed against Misaki’s arm and stealing his body heat. “What?”_

_“Tell me you like me,” Misaki repeated, and Saruhiko snorted._

_“We’re dating.”_

_“Sure, I know.” Misaki hummed and turned over so he was facing him. Saruhiko relished the sudden increase in warmth. “But you’ve never really said it you know? I want to hear the words.”_

_“Stop making me do useless things.”_

_Misaki laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t think you would. It’s okay; I know you love me, anyway.”_

_There was silence, save for the steady tick-tock of the clock on their bedside table, and the rattling of the windows because of the heavy wind. Saruhiko felt Misaki’s breathing even out. I love you, he whispered, but Misaki was asleep._

 

* * *

 

They have a run-in on a Wednesday. He’s not sure how long it’s been since The Day (it’s been exactly one month and three days. He keeps count, but he pretends he doesn’t.)

Saruhiko is on his lunch break, heading to the nearest café to get himself some coffee because the machine at work sucks, and he hasn’t slept well for – a while now. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s tired and feels just about ready to die.

Misaki looks at him and does a double-take.

“A-are you okay?” He asks, and his voice is uneven and slightly hesitant. Saruhiko knows him enough to understand what that means. _I’m not sure I should be talking to you but I’m curious._

“Just swell,” he snaps back, and brushes past, pretending that small touch didn’t send sparks down his spine. He doesn’t turn around till he reaches the corner, and by then, Misaki is long gone.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m never working overtime again,” he told Awashima before leaving the office. She rolled her eyes and didn’t respond, and he was glad she didn’t. It would have been a lecture and he hated lectures._

_Honestly, he should have taken the day off. It was the fourteenth of February, the Most Special Day of the Year, and of course, every one in his department, who also all happened to be single, had to celebrate it with much enthusiasm. What a waste of time. Those idiots._

_Misaki had something planned, cheesy as he was. He’d practically forced Saruhiko out the door, which wasn’t exactly unusual, besides how forcefully casual he’d tried to make it look. Saruhiko rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets, making his way down the street. Yeah, Misaki had definitely planned something._

_He paused for a moment, and decided to take a small detour to the market._

_He opened the door and murmured a soft, “I’m home,” that echoed in the corridor. The house was dark, but he could see a faint strip of light from under the kitchen door. There was a sickly sweet smell in the air._

_He opened the door, cringing at how strong the smell was inside the kitchen, and his eyes fell upon three things – one, Misaki sleeping at the table; two, a small package of what were clearly homemade chocolates in front of him; three, an overflowing dustbin._

_Saruhiko tightened his grip on the bag in his hands, the weight of the store bought chocolate suddenly too much. I love you, he found himself thinking, over and over again._

 

* * *

  
He doesn’t want to see Misaki anymore. And why should he, anyway? He has nothing to do with Misaki anymore, and Misaki has nothing to do with him. They’re not together. They’re not friends anymore, either. They’re officially ‘separated’. He doesn’t even know what that means. When did it start? He’s not sure. He thought it was working out.

But then, since it’s him, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. He should have known. It should have been obvious from the start.

He manages to delete the folder on his laptop, but he doesn’t empty his recycle bin. He can’t bring himself to go that far. He’s not strong enough, but he’d always known he was weak when it came to Misaki.

But now – there’s no Misaki anymore, is there?

 

* * *

 

_“A few weeks ago, Domyouji got turned into a girl by this dumb strain,” Saruhiko said, and Misaki choked on his food._

_“He what?!”_

_“He became a female, yes.” Saruhiko smirked. “The same kind you’re scared of – with boobs and –”_

_“I get the point!” Misaki delivered a kick under the table, and Saruhiko ignored the pain in favour of stretching the teasing on for longer._

_“I wonder what would happen if_ I _came home as a girl? Would you cry? Maybe you’d freak out?”_

_“You’d be an ugly girl, I’d probably cry of terror.”_

_“You wound me, Misaki –”_

_“Anyway,” Misaki interrupted, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t matter does it? I love you because you’re you, not because you’re a guy or a girl.”_

_Saruhiko blinked, and turned his attention back to his rice, ignoring the flush in his face. I love you too._

 

* * *

 

He goes to the market for the first time since – since they got together a year ago. He hasn’t seen Misaki for almost three weeks. It feels like longer, but then it also doesn’t feel like anything anymore. Time means nothing to him – it just passes.

He stands in one of the aisles at the market, staring at the shelves, holding an empty basket in his hand. He doesn’t know how to shop for groceries. He’s never gone shopping with groceries in mind. There’s no milk, it occurs to him. He should get some of that. He makes his way towards the back, and heads towards the left to the vegetables, instead of towards the right to the dairy products. He doesn’t even know what the vegetables are, but he picks up whatever he recognizes.

He stuffs the basket with everything he sees throughout the store that he remembers he’s seen in the kitchen at some point in the past. He doesn’t know what it means. It’ll probably be useful somehow. The basket is heavy, and his arm hurts. He approaches the counter and gets in line, considering maybe taking the vegetables out, because he doesn’t need them.

It’s been almost two months, he tells himself. Get over it.

The lady in front of him moves aside and he gets his first glimpse at the cashier.

Red hair, short height, a familiar red jacket.

“Oh,” Misaki says when he sees him.

Oh, Saruhiko thinks, but he doesn’t voice it.

They stand in silence while Misaki runs his things through the register, looking at him curiously when he picks up the bag of carrots.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“If I didn’t,” Saruhiko says, and his voice is cold. “I wouldn’t put it in the basket, would I?”

“Right,” Misaki laughs awkwardly and scans it. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”

Saruhiko looks around, and his eyes fall upon the display behind the counter. Red and pink heart-shaped boxes, all lined up in the shelves, a bunch of Valentines’ cards and some stupid looking teddy bears that Saruhiko would burn if he could.

“One of those too,” he says when Misaki’s done scanning his things. He points at the chocolate boxes. “The red one.”

Misaki looks at him in surprise. “Those are for Valentines’, you know? You don’t need those.”

“Don’t I?”

“W-well…those are for like, _special_ people, you know?”

“I’m not stupid, Misaki,” he snaps back, and relishes the look of hurt in Misaki’s eyes. “I know what they’re for, and I need them.”

Misaki takes a deep breath and looks at the boxes for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is shaky. “Do you…do you _have_ someone? Someone that important to you?”

Saruhiko thinks back to a year ago – Misaki groggily handing him homemade chocolates and kissing him hard at the sight of a store-bought box; Misaki dragging him off to the bedroom, but never really making it there; Misaki waking up on the couch in the morning and hitting him hard, but his face – glowing.

“I do,” he says, and he means it. Misaki wordlessly brings a box from the display and scans it. Saruhiko pays with his card, picks up the shopping bags and leaves. When he’s at the door, he risks a look back. Misaki’s head is bent, and his shoulders, Saruhiko thinks, but he can’t really tell from the distance, are shaking.

It’s oddly satisfying.

 

* * *

 

_Misaki was a deep sleeper. Saruhiko watched him sleep, tracing circles at the skin where his shirt was riding up, watching him shiver slightly at the ticklish sensation but never waking up. It was late, he had to wake up early for work tomorrow._

_Just a little longer, he told himself. It didn’t really make a difference. He could watch Misaki for a lifetime, it wouldn’t be enough._

_Misaki shifted a bit and Saruhiko drew his hand back, laying back down and closing his eyes, breathing in Misaki’s scent on the pillows and seeking his hand under the covers. I love you, he thought. You know that, right?_

 

* * *

 

It’s a Saturday, and he’s lying in bed, considering going to work on his day off again, because he has nothing better to do when the door bell rings. He blinks at the ceiling in surprise. Nobody comes to visit him. He doesn’t have anyone who would want to. The bell rings again, and again, and keeps ringing, and there’s only one person _that_ could be.

Does he want to open it? He’s not sure. He doesn’t know if he wants to see that face again.

(That’s a lie. He wants to see it. But he’s not sure he can handle it.)

(No, he probably can’t.)

But he wants to see it, so he opens the door anyway.

Misaki’s hair is a mess, like he didn’t bother brushing it. His eyes are red and he looks pale and oddly skinny. His clothes are disheveled. It’s a Saturday morning after all, Saruhiko recalls. Isn’t this what Misaki looks like on weekends?

“Who is it?”

“What?”

“You bought a chocolate box, right? Who is it?”

Saruhiko blinks, and he recalls the box, sitting alone on the table – at the side Misaki used to sit on. He scowls.

“What does that have to do with you?”

“I – _”_ Misaki looks at the floor, and shrugs. “It doesn’t. I’m just curious.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“There isn’t really anyone, is there?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I know you,” Misaki says. “I know there isn’t anyone. You don’t let people close to you so easily.”

“Maybe,” Saruhiko drawls, leaning against the door frame. “Maybe you’re not the only one I let myself get close to. You don’t monitor all my relationships.”

“You hate everyone.” There is a desperate tinge to Misaki’s voice. It’s unstable. “I _know_ you - _”_

“Maybe you were wrong about that,” Saruhiko says. His voice is cold and steely. “I was wrong too. I thought I knew you.”

He closes the door in Misaki’s face. Somehow, it’s not satisfying this time.

 

* * *

 

_“I’m breaking up with you,” Misaki declares, pointing at the leftover vegetables in Saruhiko’s plate._

_“You do that everyday,” Saruhiko responds, rolling his eyes and leaving the kitchen, only to be dragged back by the back of his shirt and stood in front of the table._

_“You finish those, or I’ll kick you out of the apartment.”_

_“It’s_ my _apartment, I pay the rent.”_

_Misaki picked up a piece of cucumber and brought it close to his face, making him cringe at the smell. “If you eat this, I’ll kiss you.”_

_“I don’t want your filthy mouth near mine.”_

_“Hm, too bad,” Misaki said, pulling him into a kiss – deep enough to be intoxicating, and short enough to leave him unsatisfied, and his brain was like a record set on repeat - iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. He held up the cucumber. “One of those for each of these.”_

_Saruhiko scowled and opened his mouth._

 

* * *

 

The doorbell rings again two days later, right when Saruhiko steps out of the bathroom. It’s the familiar pattern he’s so used to – twice in a row and then once again after a pause. Saruhiko takes his time, pulling on his uniform, and actually making the bed, just to take longer, making himself a cup of coffee and pouring it into his thermos before he finally opens the door to that face again. This time it looks worse, but there is a small difference – the expression isn’t hurt or desperate. There’s no expression at all. Saruhiko isn’t used to that.

“I forgot some of my things,” Misaki says. His voice is dull, and he’s not meeting Saruhiko’s eyes.

“I know,” he responds, and after a second, holds the door open. “They’re in a box in the living room.”

Misaki nods and steps past him. Saruhiko stays where he is, holding the door open, and staring at the dirty floor outside. There is a stain where the guy next door had bled after having fallen off the stairs in a drunken state. He closes the door and follows Misaki inside.

Inside where – Misaki is standing in the living room, staring at a brand new, heart shaped box on the coffee table.

“There wasn’t anyone, was there?” He murmurs, before swiveling around to give Saruhiko a look. It’s an expression, Saruhiko realizes. His face isn’t blank anymore. It’s hurt and pain, but it’s still an expression.

“There is,” he says after a pause, because it’s not a _lie_. There is, and there always has, and there always will be, even if he won’t admit who.

“You’re lying,” Misaki says. His fists clench and his voice takes another turn. “Tell me you’re fucking lying. Please.”

“Why do you care anyway? You broke up with me, remember?”

“It’s not like I _wanted_ to break up!”

Saruhiko scowls. So this is how it was? Suddenly he was the bad guy? This was a familiar situation, wasn’t it – he was the one getting hurt, and then suddenly it was all his fault. It reminds him of someone else, who’d done the same. He’d never known Misaki could be manipulative. But he’d never really known Misaki then, had he? He’d learnt that a few weeks ago, on a cold December morning.

“Then why did you?” He said slowly.

“It’s like,” Misaki wipes his eyes furiously, with the back of his hands. “It’s like I always try to help you but you never let me. You won’t tell me why you hate everything I like, or why you left, or why you’re…the way you are. You’re constantly pushing me away – there’s only so long I can spend thinking you’re just fucking being yourself.”

“So,” Saruhiko said, icily, “You broke up with me because I wouldn’t _tell_ you things?”

“I broke up with you because if you don’t trust me enough to tell me anything, or at least let me know that you’re not ready yet, then it’s obvious we’re not getting anywhere with this relationship.” Misaki sighs, looking at the box again. “And maybe I was just insecure – if you don’t love me like I love you, what’s the point?”

Saruhiko scowls. “Don’t fuck with my feelings just because you’re confused about yours.”

“I’m not confused about mine,” Misaki tells him. “I’ve told you a million times, I love you. I’m confused about _yours._ Do you love me back? I don’t know. You never said anything about it.”

“Didn’t you say you _know_ me?”

“I only know as much as you let me, and that’s not a lot. I’m an idiot, remember? You have to tell me clearly so I understand.”

Saruhiko sighs. “There really is someone, you know.”

Misaki blinks at him once. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Saruhiko says, and he feels his heart thudding wildly against his chest. He feels kind of choked up – and that’s also new. “There’s only ever been one person.”

For a second, he thinks Misaki doesn’t get it, because he doesn’t react. Then Misaki picks up the box. “I told you, say it clearly, so I understand.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know. That’s my point.”

Saruhiko sighs, and grabs his collar to pull him in.

 

* * *

 

_I love you._

_I’ve told you that a million times, but you never hear it._

**Author's Note:**

> candylit.tumblr.com


End file.
